Pressure Points
by Jayda Morgana
Summary: One-shot. Sherlock's feeling tense, so John decides that a massage is in order. Johnlock, fluffy PWP.


"You complete berk - how long have you been awake, anyway?"

"Doesn't matter," Sherlock said, all concentration. "I've got three different cases running at once, two of which must be solved within the week. I can hardly afford to-"

"To shut your pretty mouth for two seconds and come up to bed? I have a surprise for you."

Sherlock blinked. He turned around from his place on the floor to find John Watson standing before him, completely naked, holding a bottle of massage oil. The detective felt himself go hard beneath his trousers.

"John-"

"Don't 'John' me. You're stiff as a board in all the wrong areas," the doctor stepped close and ran his hands along Sherlock's backside. "You're so tense, love. Please. Take a break."

Sherlock shivered, unable to resist the warm press of John Watson, holding him, caressing him like that. He could only imagine how much better things would be once his own clothing was off.

"Fine." He had to act as though he weren't giving in so easily, after all. "Lead the way, John."

John led Sherlock up to their bedroom, where everything for the evening was laid out - lube, oils, lotions ...

"J-John," Sherlock gasped, his breath hitching in his throat.

"I'm going to take your mind off that bloody case for the evening," John promised. "And you are going to be in such a state of pleasure that you won't even remember the damned thing."

"Of course," Sherlock said, delirious with pleasure already.

John proceeded to undress Sherlock, piece by piece. One by one, each article of clothing was gently tossed aside, leaving Sherlock in a state of naked glory.

"I'm going to give you a massage," John whispered. "So if you'll just lie down on the bed, on your stomach - there you go. Perfect." He smiled appreciatively at the view of bum and backside.

John slicked up his hands with oil and, once Sherlock was completely comfortable, began trailing his fingers along the tense back, each touch a whisper.

"Mm-m …" Sherlock breathed, squirming a little.

"Relax, love," John said softly, his fingers trickling like raindrops across a window. "You're so tense. It's been too long since we did anything like this."

It was awhile before Sherlock could remain still; he was always sensitive to John's touches.

"Take a deep breath," John said, his voice light, "There you go. Feeling better yet?"

Sherlock uttered a sound of agreement.

John's trailing fingers slowly transitioned into more urgent strokes, across lanky limbs and strong shoulders and that glorious rear. Everything about Sherlock was so smooth and luxuriant, from those messy curls to those breathy sighs to that body, oiled up and golden in the dim light. John felt his erection press urgently against Sherlock's upper thigh.

"G-God, John," Sherlock moaned, eyelids fluttering. He attempted to roll over, but John pressed him down gently, bending over his love and planting a kiss on his hairline, slick with perspiration. He planted a trail of kisses along Sherlock's neck, his cock now pressing hard over Sherlock's bum. The detective let out a desperate whimper, such a different man from the pent-up, harried one of before.

"I want you," John said, harder than ever. He was torn between wanting Sherlock's big hands on his cock and wanting his own on Sherlock's as well. _Why not both?_ he thought with a grin.

Sherlock made to roll over, and John allowed it. He drank in the sight of his lover fondly, that flushed face and mess of dark hair, pressed up against the pillows … God, it was too much.

"Oh, Sherlock …" he gasped, taking soft hold of Sherlock's right hand and bringing it to his cock. For a moment he couldn't think, but he had just enough time to bring one of his hands to Sherlock's own cock, the other to his arse, just as Sherlock began to stroke.

He was aware of Sherlock's lips parting, his pupils dilating, before his own vision blurred. To still see Sherlock in the dim light, to hear those breathy sighs, though - that was more than enough.

"L-lotion?" John asked, not sure if he was making sense.

"Not needed," Sherlock said, shivering luxuriously as he palmed, teasing his way over to the balls. John's eyes squeezed shut and he let out an unabashed moan; this was too much. Mutual masturbation always was, in a way - not only did he get to feel such intense sensations, those big, protective hands on him, urgent as ever, but he got to massage Sherlock's own cock, his own voluptuous arse, too. John wondered if it was possible to feel _too_ fortunate.

"Love," Sherlock gasped, just as John felt himself ready to climax, "John-"

"Oh, _God_," John moaned. He was able to take another ragged breath before he came. "_Sherlock_."

John felt wiped out, but he knew he couldn't forget about his love. He continued to stroke as he recovered until Sherlock came, too, in a series of gasps and whimpers so unlike the man he knew by day.

"John," Sherlock swallowed the lump in his throat. "You felt - you feel - _so_ good."

"Mmm," was all John could say, collapsing into bed and sidling up into the crook of Sherlock's arm. They relaxed there for a few moments, silent save for the sounds of their heavy breathing. "Do you feel better?" John asked, once they'd both recovered.

"Infinitely," Sherlock said, his mouth curving into a pleased smile.

"I'm glad." John curled into Sherlock's strong body even more. "You were so stiff, love. I hated seeing you stressed like that."

"I'm lucky," Sherlock murmured, smiling against John's hairline. "I might never've stopped if I hadn't had such … temptation."

John laughed. "In that case, you would've just taken more convincing, that's all."

Sherlock, limp with exhaustion, knew he would've gone hard again if his body would permit it. "Thank you, John," he said simply.

"Of course, love. Of course."

Sherlock was soon asleep, snoring gently against John's hair, his thin chest rising and falling in soft flutters against his ribcage. John smiled sleepily and buried himself against Sherlock's side, pulling a blanket over them both. Within moments he was asleep, too, glad that if he had any sort of pressure point, it was Sherlock Holmes.

* * *

_**… because I needed some good old Johnlock to get me through the week, and because the idea of John making Sherlock feel this way is my absolute favorite thing.**_


End file.
